“No,” Wesley said. “But I just might have something.”

He stepped beside Saxony and took in a breath, like he was really going to regret this next part.

“This time I want a thank-you,” he said.

Saxony wasn’t quite sure what he meant, since she’d definitely thanked him for saving her life that one time, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t helped him out before.

Sure, she still owed him a life debt, but trust Wesley to be thinking of debts at a time like this.

Wesley raised his hands in a parallel of Saxony’s and pushed.

Intuitcrafters didn’t have force fields or control of the weather. They couldn’t bind their enemies or command nature, but it seemed like Wesley didn’t need to. He was a force of nature himself.

Not that Saxony would ever say something like that to his face.

As soon as Wesley thrust his arms out, the tornado winced, shuddering backward like it had been slapped. Saxony pushed forward with her own force field and with the weight of both of their magics working together, the beast began to truly tremble.

Saxony whipped her head over to Wesley and couldn’t help but smile at him, maybe for the first time. There was something about this moment—about them combining their powers—that made her feel at peace, even with a Gods damned tornado at their feet. Wesley’s Crafter magic synced up to hers so easily that it made Saxony wonder if maybe, just maybe, the Many Gods had wanted them to be a team all along.

Wesley muttered something low and musical under his breath, and Saxony didn’t realize it was a spell until the trees of the forest began to coo in response.

She had never seen them act that way before.

They rocked back and forth, over and over, until they created their own kind of power source—a wind tunnel that crashed against the tornado and sent it crouching to the ground.

Wesley’s smile was like a weapon and Saxony couldn’t take her eyes off of him, not least because Wesley was glowing. Not in a weird flowery way that made Saxony’s bones shudder to consider—he was very literally glowing.

The staves that crisscrossed up Wesley’s arms, in between the slits of his tattoos, were alight, and shining, silver swirls that looked like stars trailed up his dark skin and toward his neck, mingling with the lines of the city he had tattooed over himself.

The storm didn’t stand a chance against them both.

The tornado wilted under their magic, Saxony’s force field and the weight of power Wesley was funneling, the two of them like an oddly perfect magical duo.

Crafters were always best when casting as a team; that was why they made Kins, after all.

“We need to press just a little harder,” Saxony said. “I can feel it dying.”